' Reading these works is like passing
through a wondrously beautiful country. But it is not the indolent
beauty of southern climes, to lounge through sleepily in a slow-rolling
travelling carriage. You must ride through it on the proud back of a
blooded steed. Canter, run, if you like, when the ground is fit and the
spirit moves, as often enough it may; but do not fix your eyes upon any
distant gaol, and time your arrival thereat. Enjoy what is close at
hand. Admire now the blue glories of the proud hills, recumbent in
careless grace of majesty in the indolent sunlit atmosphere; gaze then
into the sombre depths of solemn retreating forest; tremble anon in the
black shadow of the fierce rock beetling over your bridle way; and fill
your rejoicing being with the fresh-distilled vigor of the springy step
of your charger on the turf. It will put bounding manliness into your
sluggish civilian blood. Read each page, each chapter for itself; or
regard it as one handsome marble square in the tesselated pavement of a
haughty palace, not as a useful brick in the domestic sidewalk, which is
to carry you straight to a homely destination. Observe the description
of scenes, how powerful! the delineation of character, how fascinating!
and be pleased with the luxuriance of the style and the gorgeous drapery
of language wherewith so royally the thoughts are robed.
Our author is not true to nature--he is extravagant, high-wrought.
Nobody ever met his heroes or his heroines in real life, nor lived the
scenes told of in his poetry.
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